Be My Valentine
by General Ginger
Summary: "Be my Valentine, Bean?" Originally posted on AO3. Weecest.
**February 14, 1986**

Sam took a pair of scissors and cut a lopsided heart out of whatever paper they had available, ripped out a few of the wilting flowers in front of the motel, and collected all the half-melted candy he had stashed in his pockets before walking up to Dean with the widest grin spread across his chubby cheeks, presenting his gifts to his big brother with pride. "Be my Valentine, Bean?"

The smile on his face only grew wider when Dean gladly accepted them with a "Yeah, sure, Sammy," snorting at the barely readable scribble on the homemade card. Not even Sam himself could understand what he'd written, and they laughed about it until their stomachs hurt. Dean shared his candy with Sammy afterwards as they watched cartoons on TV, both boys ending up with more chocolate smeared onto their faces than in their mouths.

Even at three years old, Sam was still able to notice the weight that was magically lifted off Dean's too grown up shoulders. Dean was different then. He liked Different Dean, and from then on, he declared it his job to make sure Dean stayed that way.

 **February 14, 1996**

"Be my Valentine, Dean?" The words naturally flowed out of Sam's mouth, just like they did last year and the year before that, all the way back to when he was three and said them the first time. There was something new behind them, deliberately hidden and only for Sam to know about as he looked up at Dean with bright eyes and the usual grin.

The small plant on the table seemed to catch Dean's interest. "Look, Sammy...I don't think this whole Valentine's Day thing is gonna work anymore," he said.

"Why not?" Sam asked. "Did I-?"

"You didn't do anything," Dean said quickly, "It's just that we're just getting too old for it, that's all. We're at that age where stuff like this starts to mean other…stuff, you know?" It was apparent that he was trying to be delicate, let him down easy. If letting Sam down easy meant breaking his little brother's heart on Valentine's Day, then 10 points to Gryffindor.

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah. I- I get it. Don't want people to think we're dating or something," he said, managing a half-hearted chuckle. His effort to try to make Dean's rejection seem like it was no big deal was probably as transparent as glass.

"Well, I'm glad you understand, Sammy. Now come on before you're late for school." Dean smiled, a show of teeth that Sam easily pointed out as fake, before ruffling his hair and walking out to the car as if nothing happened.

Dean was right. What would people think seeing a 13 year old kid ask his 17 year old brother to be his Valentine? But dammit, who cared what people thought? Apparently, Dean did. He stuffed the now formerly traditional gifts into the trashcan with, shoving them down as far as he could. Slinging his bookbag over his shoulder, he took a deep breath to calm himself before heading to the Impala.

The silence between them on the ride to School #2 out of god knows how many of the semester was suffocating.

And if Sam cried silently in the boys' bathroom that morning, that was another thing no one needed to know but himself.

 **February 14, 2001**

Sam's cell phone rings on the table. He lets out a sigh of relief. He likes research to the point of obsession, but this assignment just calls for too damn much. A sudden phone call is a welcome distraction from the overly extensive reading he's had to spend all night doing. He glances at the caller ID and swallows hard, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he picks up the phone with a shaky hand and an even shakier "Hello?"

Sam hasn't seen that number in months.

"Hey, little brother," Dean says, probably halfway across the country hunting the monster of the week with Dad. Sam can practically hear the grin in Dean's voice. "How've you been?"

"Good. I'm… _really_ good," Sam says. He knows he sounds a little too enthusiastic, but hey, this is the first communication they've had since he left for Stanford. He's got a right to be excited.

Dean chuckles. "Learning's been that fun, huh?"

"Yeah…" Sam trails off.

Silence fills the next ten seconds, neither knowing where to go with this. Dean clears his throat due to the awkward tension between them, and Sam fiddles with his pen, tapping out 'Hey Jude' on the table with the base.

Thankfully, Dean speaks first. If it were up to Sam, it'd be another minute before he decides to end the call with an awkward goodbye and a promise from Dean that he'll call back soon- soon meaning some random time of the night three weeks from now.

"So, uh…the reason I called was…" Dean pauses, "I just wanted to tell you happy Valentine's Day."

Sam has to turn his whole body around to peer over at the calendar on his wall. February 14. It's Valentine's Day, alright, and Dean just wished him a happy one. He can't help but scoff at the irony. He hasn't had a happy Valentine's Day since the morning that Dean ripped out his heart and stepped all over it, and he's sure he never will again. "Where the hell did all _this _come from?" Sam asks incredulously, eyebrows drawn in.__

"It's a Winchester brother tradition, Sammy!" Dean says, a little too happily for Sam's taste.

 _Tradition, my ass._

"After all, you're the one who started it."

"And you're the one who ended it," Sam says through clenched teeth, bitterness spewing out by the gallon. His eyes start to blur with unshed tears. He's sure that Dean is wondering where all this sudden hostility is coming from. Wetness slides down Sam's cheeks when he remembers that if his brother did know, the look of disgust that would surely paint itself on Dean's face would remind him of how much of a freak he is.

"I know," Dean whispers softly, static overpowering his voice. He sighs. "It took me too damn long to realize how much of a mistake that was. So open up your window so I can fix it like a good big brother."

Sam blinks. "W-what?"

"Just do it."

Sam forces himself to get out his chair, goes to the window, and pushes it up. He shivers at the intrusion of cool winter air before sticking his head out of the frame a couple of inches. "Dean, there's nothing-"

"Look down, you idiot."

Sam does, and the phone slips out of his fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp crack. It's a Nokia, so he's really not that worried about having to buy a new one. Sam's focus is more on the shadowed figure, lit only by the dim campus lights, standing underneath his dorm window holding flowers pulled up from the garden nearby, a lopsided paper heart, and a bag of candy bars.

His mouth drops open. "Dean…" Sam chokes out. There's not much he can do to stop the waterworks, at which his brother rolls his eyes.

"Quit crying over me, bitch. I ain't dead yet."

"Shut up, jerk." Sam lets out a watery laugh as he wipes his face with his sleeve.

"Nah, I don't think so." Dean says, flashing Sam that cocky, lopsided grin that's tinged with something…more than usual that makes Sam start to rethink his assumptions about him. "Besides, I still got one more thing to say."

"And what's that?"

Dean's face softens in a way makes Sam feel like his pulverized heart has been molded back together then melted into goo. Sam's gonna cry. Again. They both are, and wet green eyes lock onto already dewy hazel ones.

Dean holds up the things in his hand, uncaring of the dirt from the flowers falling onto his leather jacket as he says their version of the three little words. "Be my Valentine, Sammy?"


End file.
